Today I strummed chords I seldom play
and sang notes I seldom sing.
My fingers strained to strike the frets
My voice trembled at the top of my register.
After I was done, I felt strangely alive
and wondered why I so often hold back
from these places,
these wonderful places,
where my blood races
and my spirit soars.
A pox upon the demon of the commonplace,
holding its infamous net of security
and three cheers to the angel of uncertainty,
who calls us “to come and die and find that I
may truly live.”